Confiscated and Highly Dangerous
by OstrasizedPotato
Summary: Now rewritten and better than ever! :] This is my version of how Fred and George succeded in finding and eventually unlocking the Marauder's Map. Oneshot.


_Confiscated and Highly Dangerous_

"Okay... No one's coming. Go, go, go!"

After making sure that no one was around the corner of the corridor that they were currently inhabiting, Fred and George Weasley chucked almost all of their dungbombs on the floor, paused to inhale the melodic scent of upcoming disaster, pivoted simultaneously, and, finally, ran for their lives. There was only one problem... Filch blocked their path, having seemingly appeared out of nowhere. A menacing glare of a smile was evident on his mouth.

"Ah HA!" cried Filch, an evil leer twisting his face. "First year trouble makers, eh! My office, _now_!"

Fred and George silently followed Filch, occasionally casting glances at their counterparts. They entered his office and sat on two very uncomfortable straight-backed chairs. While this was their first time in Filch's office, it was most definitely not their last.

"So! Explain yourselves."

"What's to explain?" asked George distractedly, "We set off a few dungbombs in the hall."

"And why, might I ask," spat Filch, his voice simply teeming with mock politeness, "did you do this?" The caretaker was literally fuming with rage. Fred could have sworn there was smoke coming from his face.

"Ahhh, well you know... well you probably don't. Hogwarts is getting boring... Olivia Deters left last year... Percy told us she was the big trouble maker. Now the spot is vacant and why shouldn't we take it?"

"You... I... Why won't Dumbledore let me hang them upside down from the ceiling?" Filch said in a rush, eyeing his well-oiled chains in the corner of the room with a longing expression of lust. Fred could have sworn that a look of loving admiration filled his eyes at the sight of them. Filch continued, jerking his unshaven face back towards the troublemakes. "Those wonderful chains made them all good!" Filch continued to babble, more to himself than to the two boys sitting in front of him. The twins took this opportunity to look at the room more closely. There were many interesting looking cabinets along the side of the wall.

"...Why can't you be like the responsible students here! Detention, I'd say, would do you some good!"

One cabinet was marked 'Confiscated and Highly Dangerous.'

"...Dungbombs, I tell you!"

Fred caught George's eye with a questioning look. George, grinning, gave a quick nod and a wink.

"...absolutely NOT acceptable!"

George stood up and moved as far away as he could from the cabinet, and Fred moved inconspicuously closer.

"Where do you think you're going?" Filch spat.

"Oh, I didn't want Fred to get the smell of the dungbomb to badly." George said, smiling lightly.

"Excuse me?" Filch looked confused.

At that moment, George, with a quick snap of his wrist, threw a hidden, remaining dungbomb down right at Filch's feet. Smoke came up and the smell was revolting. While Filch was preoccupied (his hands were batting around everywhere, his nose and mouth were desperately searching for fresh air), Fred popped open the drawer and riffled through it quickly. As the smoke began to clear, he drew out a scrap of paper, the first thing his frantic hands had found. He didn't have a chance to look at it, and instead shoved it in his pocket and shut the drawer hurriedly.

Filch was furious. His face was purple and his hands were shaking uncontrollably. "TWO MONTHS OF DETENTION, AND LET THAT BE A LESSON TO YOU!"

"Well... if that's all," grinned George, "We'll be going." Fred and George curtsied, and the 11-year-old boys stepped out of Filch's office. They ran all the way to an empty classroom two floors above and George, bobbing on the balls of his feet, asked apprehensively,

"Did you get something?"

"Yes, my friend, I sure did!"

"WELL? Let's see it!" Fred whipped out the parchment and frowned.

"Hey... It's... blank," he commented. His shoulders sagged: What a letdown.

"What? Let me see." The two flaming-haired twins looked at it.

"Well... if the people that made it were smart, they wouldn't let just anyone see it."

"That's optimistic. How do we know it wasn't just a scrap of paper Filch was planning to take notes on or something?" George sighed with disappointment.

"We don't... But I don't want to take the chance that it really is Confiscated and Highly Dangerous, and we let it get away! Do you?"

"No way!" The other twin tried a smile, his hopes lifting slightly.

"Yeah, maybe we—" Just then though, a noise sounded from the front of the classroom. Fred and George turned toward the door and saw their annoying brother, Percy, standing in the entrance of the room.

"What are you two doing?" he snapped. "George? Fred? What do you have?"  
In a heart-stopping split second, Fred tried to think of a cover up. "We—we don't have... anything." He finished, lamely.

"Of course you do! What do you have? Which class?"

Relief flooded through the two boys like water flowing out of a broken dam. Percy didn't notice the paper, he wanted to know about classes! George glanced at Fred, smiled, and stepped in front of the parchment. "Herbology."

"Well, get going!"

At lunch the following day, Fred said suddenly, "Hey, let's ditch lunch and look at the parchment."

"Took the words right out of my mouth, bro." They went up to Gryffindor Tower, which was empty, and sat by a table. "Well, I was thinking," George said excitedly, "we could try writing on it, but I don't want to risk messing it up."

"You're right. We probably shouldn't do that right away. Maybe something invisible is written on it...we wouldn't want to mar anything already existing. I have a revealer! That might make something show up!" Fred said. He ran upstairs and took the dark red eraser out of his bag. Jumping the last few stairs, he tossed it to George. They scrubbed hard with the object, but nothing happened.

"Oh, great, it didn't work."

"Nooo, really? Well I heard about a spell that makes invisible things visible, but I don't know the incantation."

"Off to the library," they said simultaneously and with the same gloomy tone. Snatching the wrinkled paper, they got up and ran to the library, ignoring Professor Flitwick when he asked where they were off to. The boys reached the library and walked up to Madam Pince. She glared at them; just last month they had set off a stink pellet in the library.

"Madam Pince! Fancy seeing you here." George said, feigning surprise.

Unsmiling, Madam Pince answered, "I work here."

"Well then, maybe you could help us find something," said Fred.

"We want the works on visibility. How to make things visible, you know." Madam Pince looked at them suspiciously, but led them toward the back of the library.

"Thanks!"

The strict librarian walked away without saying another word. "Okay, let's see what we have here." Fred muttered, disconcertedly.

After working for about two minutes, George cried out, "Oh, here's one! It says... oh, nevermind, that's not _really _invisibility, it's the Dillusionment Charm. Then you take it off by—but nevermind it's not that."

Ten minutes later, Fred called out to his flaming-haired twin in frustration, "It's hopeless, there's nothing in _any _of these books I've looked at—" He gestured to the relatively large pile of books next to him. "—except invisibility cloaks and stuff about Demiguises."

"Let's just try and go through a few more," George said, a note of soothing persuasion in his voice.

"Fine, fine..."

After about five more minutes of searching George practically shouted, "I got it!" Ignoring the glare cast by Madam Pince, sent their way, he carried on: "This spell would work, it's supposed to make things—" The twin glanced back down at the book resting in his lap. "—make 'invisible things once more visible to the human eye.'"

"What's the incantation?" Fred asked.

"It's . . . um . . . Umproda— thing. I can't pronounce it." Fred looked at the book over his brother's shoulder.

"I think it looks like 'Oom-prod-a-milly.'"

"Okay, let's try it." George tapped his wand against the old-looking parchment and said, "Oomprodamilly!" At once, as though an invisible hand were writing, the parchment formed words:

_Mr. Moony would like to say that he is impressed you came upon that spell, but if you want to see if it works, you should pronounce it right._

_Mr. Prongs agrees, except you shouldn't try to pronounce it right, because it is wrong anyway._

_Mr. Padfoot would like to add that you'll probably never find the correct thing, so mind your own business, please._

_Mr. Wormtail bids you farewell and advises you to stop trying to butt into our business._

An expression of deepest confusion and astonishment seemed permanently engraved on the twin's faces. George's wand hung frozen over the parchment; his mouth was slightly open.

"What the—?" George squeaked, and at the same time his wand clattered out of his hand, its tip colliding with the parchment. At once, words started to appear on the creased paper.

_Mr. Moony is surprised that someone supposedly intelligent enough to attend Hogwarts can not even complete a full sentence._

_Mr. Prongs advises that before you try to communicate, you should probably learn a few more words._

_Mr. Padfoot once again expresses his deepest wish that you leave us alone and mind your own business._

_Mr. Wormtail agrees and would now like to say goodbye, for good, hopefully._

"That—" Fred said, his eyes wide.

"Is—" George continued, his eyes equally large.

"_Brilliant!_" They finished together.

Fred gazed wondering at the words on the parchment. "Moony, Prongs, Padfoot, and Wormtail... Who—what?—are you?" With a quick tap of his wand, an answer began to form.

_Mr. Moony is startled and appalled that you haven't heard of us._

_Mr. Prongs is sickened that you don't know who we are._

_Mr. Padfoot is aghast with horror at the thought that someone is unfamiliar with the biggest troublemakers that Hogwarts has and ever will see._

_Mr. Wormtail answers that we, quite simply, are the Marauders._

"The Marauders," George murmured wonderingly, but Fred had other things on his mind.

"Hah, Mr. Padfoot! 'Biggest troublemakers', eh? Is that a challenge?" At his last words, grinning quite broadly, Fred whacked the paper once more.

_Mr. Moony says don't make me laugh._

_Mr. Prongs agrees that the idea of you being better troublemakers than us is derisory._

_Mr. Padfoot asks, if you are such troublemakers, why aren't you up to no good now?_

_Mr. Wormtail is of the same opinion as Mr. Padfoot—a moment spent not causing a ruckus is a moment wasted._

"We're trying to figure out what's up with this paper!" George said heatedly. "Why it's 'confiscated and highly dangerous', or whatever!"

"Yeah," Fred agreed. "We _are _up to no good." Hitting the parchment to make sure the 'Marauders' got the message, Fred waited for the next words.

_Mr. Moony begs to differ that you are up to no good._

_Mr. Prongs wonders when the last time you did an 'up to no good' thing was, if _this _even counts as being up to no good_

_Mr. Padfoot is in agreement with Mr. Prongs._

_Mr. Wormtail concurs that you are hardly up to as much trouble as you would like to think._

Fred glared at the parchment. "We're jokesters; we play practical jokes _all the time._"

"I swear to you, we're up to no good," George said stubbornly. A tap of the wand and—

_Mr. Moony is still not convinced, at all_

_Mr. Prongs agrees with Mr. Moony, especially since all we have to prove that you are troublemakers is your words_

_Mr. Padfoot adds his agreement to all the previous comments_

_Mr. Wormtail also points out that since you claim to be such 'jokesters', how do we know you're not joking about being up to no good?_

Fred rolled his eyes at the paper. George mimicked this action and said, with an air of exaggeration, "With all the trueness of our hearts we sincerely pledge that we are authentic jokesters. We earnestly promise that we are the most genuine troublemakers you could ask for. We solemnly swear that we are up to no good." Looking pleased with his speech, George smacked the parchment.

Slender strokes of ink spread across the length of the parchment. Miniscule lines flew from corner to corner of the page. And then, at the very top, words formed:

_Messrs Moony, Wormtail, Padfoot and Prongs  
__Purveyors of Aids to Magical Mischief-Makers  
__are proud to present  
__THE MARAUDER'S MAP_

The rest, as they say, is history.


End file.
